We'd been dreaming of a proper family getaway up north for ages, so when we finally piled into the car from Leeds, the kids buzzing in the back with their snacks and iPads, it felt like the start of something brilliant. Scarborough's only a couple of hours away, but wouldn't you know it, we hit a cheeky traffic jam just past York – some daft caravan towing nonsense that had us crawling along like turtles. I was humming along to the radio, trying to keep the peace, when little Ollie spilt his juice all over the seats. Classic us, turning a simple drive into mild chaos before we'd even arrived.

By the time we rolled into Scarborough, the sun was dipping low over the sea, painting everything golden, and my heart did a little flip of anticipation. We'd booked this cracking large family home, a grand three-storey Victorian townhouse that looked every bit the seaside gem from the outside. Pulled up, parked the cars, and stepped into the spacious hallway – blimey, an electric fire flickering away in the original fireplace, wooden flooring gleaming under those high ceilings. It screamed welcoming from the off. The sitting room was pure homely bliss, with loads of comfy seating for all twelve of us (well, our lot plus nan and grandad made nine, but you get the picture). We chucked a log on the wood burner straight away, sprawled out, and fired up the Smart TV for some Corrie while the hot tub bubbled invitingly outside.

First impressions? Spot on. It was perfect for our relaxed couple's break vibe, even with the family in tow – think simple pleasures like brewing a pot of tea in the massive kitchen, the kids pottering about with the child-friendly bits and bobs. That first evening, we wandered down to the South Bay beach, just a short stroll away, paddling in the chilly waves and scoffing fish and chips from a proper beach hut. The air was that salty, invigorating kind that makes you feel alive, and we laughed as the seagulls dive-bombed for scraps.

Next day, we kept it dead easy – a lazy morning toasting crumpets by the fire, then a gentle ramble along the promenade to the Castle Head, peering out at the endless North Sea. The hot tub became our ritual; after the kids had worn themselves out building sandcastles at North Bay, us adults slipped in with a bottle of fizz, watching the sun set. There was this one hilarious moment when grandad tried joining the kids in the garden swing – creaking protests and all – and we nearly lost him to a pile-up. Cottage life chaos at its finest, but the kind that binds you closer.

Reflecting on it now, sat back home with a cuppa, I realise it's these unhurried bits that recharge you most. No grand plans, just family giggles, woodsmoke scents, and that Scarborough magic. We left feeling lighter, already plotting a return. If you're after a cosy family bolt-hole by the sea, this is the ticket – pure, unpretentious joy.